


Fences

by NotLaura



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M, but then maybe less angst, rambling and angst and stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-20
Updated: 2015-05-25
Packaged: 2018-03-31 09:16:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3972445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotLaura/pseuds/NotLaura
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She talks about the prison the way other people talk about their lives before the outbreak. Aaron has noticed she's not the only one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> <3 to wndrw8 for the beta

In the months since she’d arrived in Alexandria, Carol has allowed herself to be more than cookies and casseroles.

She hasn't entirely shed her disguise. The jeans she wears are comfortable and she's got hiking boots on her feet, but the collared shirt she wears is buttoned properly and tucked in, the cardigan overtop frilly and prim, but also there to keep her warm against the autumn chill. Practical items while still acknowledging the carefully curated image she's worked on. It's a compromise of the old world and the new, and in a way it feels more comfortable to Carol than anything else does, these days. She knows she isn't the woman she'd been before the turn, but she isn't any of the ones she'd thought herself to be since. Wife, Victim, Mother, all titles she's shed along with caretaker, protector, den mother.

Truthfully, Carol isn't sure who she is without some sort of role to play, not anymore.

That's the best part of things since Rick and Deanna came to their agreement: Carol can figure out who she is on a day to day basis. Some days she's every bit the stepford wife she'd claimed, spending time helping Olivia organize the pantry and delivering baked goods to Jessie and her boys. Others, she stretches out in the tower with Sasha or catalogues their ammo.

Rick and Deanna may be in charge of Alexandria, but it's common knowledge that Carol knows a little bit about everything.

Jack of all trades is a role too.

Adaptability was the first survival skill she learned, really, and while she sometimes longs for the easier days at the prison, Carol is grateful for the freedom she's cultivated.

Today, she had woken to the crispness of autumn on the air, clouds that covered but did not threaten rain; and Carol hadn't wanted to do anything for anyone else. There's a selfishness in it, one she would never have indulged at the prison, or before, but loss has a way of compartmentalizing a heart until the smaller parts seem louder than they used to.

With her gun and her knife, and a small pack that only held necessities for an emergency, Carol had nodded to Morgan as he signed her out and opened the gate. She'd be back before dark, she told him and he'd only nodded, observing her quietly but without judgment. No suggestions that she shouldn't go alone, no concerns that she wouldn't know how to take care of herself. Morgan may not have seen her in action first hand in the time he'd been in Alexandria, but he didn't doubt for a moment that she was capable.

There was a time when confidence from men had meant so much to Carol, it makes her smile slightly to think of how little she cares about that now.

She doesn't go far from the walls, is never more than a half hour's hike back to safety and the chilly gray day provides a nice muffler to the thoughts she can never keep far enough away. Out here she has to focus, can't get lost in introspection or regret and the danger of it is precisely the sort of grounding she had been looking for.

There's still a couple of hours until dusk when the sound of crunching leaves gives Carol pause. Not directly behind her, but enough that she turns slowly to investigate the noise. Aaron stands several paces away, raising his hand in a wave once he's sure she'd recognized he isn't a threat. It's a careful way to approach someone, and she knows at once that the crunch of the leaves had not been accidental, had been his signal for her attention as the days of shouting hello to an acquaintance were long gone.

Carol doesn't return his wave, but she does smile a greeting as he approaches, not speaking until he's close enough that she doesn't need to raise her voice above a comfortable tone. "Good afternoon."

"Likewise," Now that she knows it to be genuine, Carol can't help but note how welcoming his smile is. She hasn't spent much time with Aaron, and none of it alone, but she knows he is a man who thinks he holds his cards closer to his chest than he does. His eyes give him away most of the time, and there's a rueful note to him that she appreciates.

She isn’t looking for company, but Aaron's arrival doesn't bring the sting of irritation with it and Carol is grateful.

"I didn't know you were out here," he says, as though they've run into each other at the grocery store and she feels her smile take a few more steps towards genuine.

"I wasn't, when you left." She'd seen his name on the pages that logged the comings and goings, heading out a little while before she did. "It seemed like a nice day for a walk."

Aaron laughs, raising his eyebrows and indicating the mostly gloomy day. "You've been off the road too long if you think this is a nice day."

"A nice day for a walk and a nice day are not the same thing." Without any discussion they fall into step together, winding through the woods. I don't want to forget about danger."

"That’s smart." There's a note of admiration to his tone and it warms her a bit.

Aaron is easy to talk to, and she finds herself chatting amicably as they circle closer, as neither of them have the intention to get caught outside after dark. He tells her of the work he did before, of the places he's seen and the people he's tried to help. In turn, she shares stories from the prison; tales of the community they'd forged behind that chain link fence.

"I'm pretty sure Carl never opened another door without knocking, calling out and then covering his eyes just in case," she finishes, laughing as she recalls the expression on the poor boy's face when he'd hightailed it through the dining area to escape the sight.

"I think I'm going to take up that habit," Aaron admits, his deep chuckle warm and comforting. "At least whenever I'm visiting Glenn and Maggie's place." He shakes his head, another chuckle rumbling through his chest. "God, I don't know that I'll ever be able to look either of them in the eye."

Her laughter surprises her; Carol realizes it might be the first genuine laugh she's had since Georgia. Aaron's still smiling when she shakes it off, but she catches a pensive note to his brow, a hint of consideration to his eyes. "Has anyone ever told you that you've got very expressive eyes?"

To his credit, he just shrugs "It makes me a horrible poker player."

"Remind me to get dealt in next time there's a game." She pauses, but he seems to need prompting. "You've got a thought you want to share, I can tell."

"You talk about the prison the way other people talk about their lives before the outbreak." There's a note of something she can't quite detect. "You were happy there. In a way you aren't, here."

"I was," Carol admits, unsure why her nerves suddenly feel a little bit on edge. "It's not that anything's wrong with Alexandria," she broaches carefully, not wanting to offend him. "I'm just a different person now."

Aaron nods, no trace of hurt in his features as they continue towards the gates. He's silent for a little while, longer than she's really known him to be in the small amount of time she's spent in his company, but Carol doesn't mind. She hasn't talked about the prison like that, hasn't reminisced with any of them about the place they'd called home. Grief is heavy in the back of her throat but there's enough safety in those memories to keep it at bay.

The sound of Aaron clearing his throat draws her eyes, and yet again Carol gets the sense that there's something he wants to say. She just raises her eyebrows, enjoying that they'd fallen so easily into this sort of communication.

"He talks about the prison that way too," Aaron finally says, and there's no question of who he means. "Not very much, of course, but every once in a while he shares something. He was happy there, too."

Something clenches inside her chest but she doesn't dwell on it, merely nods and replies more casually than she'd hoped. "We all worked hard to build that community.”

"I know," Aaron cuts her off gently. "The thing is, you and Daryl are the only ones who talk about it like it was the best home you ever knew."

"That's the thing about the world going to hell," Carol feels her throat tighten, just a bit. "The trip was shorter for some of us."

"What happened?"

The question is unexpected, and Carol frowns at him. "You know what happened. The Gov-"

Aaron shakes his head "No, not that. What happened with you and Daryl?"

Nothing.

"Excuse me?" Her voice sounds tight and she can't help but think about the fact that Aaron has replaced her, in a way. He's the one Daryl spends time with, he's the one that hears his stories...

"I know it's none of my business, and we can talk about something else if you want to, but I get the sense from his stories, and from yours, that the two of you were... closer, back then."

Closer.

She wants to laugh at that, but she knows if she tries it's just as likely to be tears that slip out. Instead, Carol only swallows and shrugs, her tone neutral "We were friends, we are friends. I talked to him last night." She tells herself that the defensive edge is only confusion, that there's no difference in her closeness with Daryl now than... Her shoulders sag and when she looks to Aaron he's patiently waiting for her to speak further.

"We were closer," she acknowledges, finally. "We were..." she searches, but there's no word for it. She and Daryl had been friends, family, lovers in all but act, partners in a world fallen apart. "That's not who we are anymore," she finally settles on. "A lot has happened."

Aaron makes a non-committal sound, but doesn't press the issue further. There's a hint of anger in his eyes now and Carol remembers the things Eric said about him, that night before they arrived in Alexandria. Aaron may be friendly and he may have his awkward moments, but he is loyal to those he cares about.

Daryl is among that number, now.

"I'm glad he has you," she finds herself saying. "He hasn't had a lot of people in his life who've considered his feelings."

"Is that what you're doing? Considering his feelings?" There's a bit of bite, but he sighs immediately and reaches out to touch her arm, bringing them to a stop as she turns to face him. "Listen. I'm not here to judge you or tell you what to do, and I don't pretend to know what you've been through. I just know that it isn't really the prison Daryl talks about like that. It's you."

She swallows, and tears threaten to fall as she asks herself how this has happened. How did they end up so far apart? How did Daryl's promises of starting over end up with them doing so without each other? How did she let herself close off from the only person she wanted to let in?

Aaron's hand is warm on her arm, even through her shirt and cardigan and all she manages to say is "I can't be that person anymore."

"So don't," he releases her arm, scrubbing his hand down his face before continuing. "He doesn't want to play pretend, he just wants you. In whatever form you're prepared to give him."

It sounds so easy, put like that.


	2. Chapter 2

They make the rest of the walk back in silence, and while Aaron finds himself tempted to press things further, he can tell by the slight slump to her shoulder that Carol wouldn't be receptive. He hadn't intended to get so pushy with her, hadn't intended to poke at old wounds to see if they'd hurt. He had approached her without ulterior motives and she had shown him her heart.

Not intentionally, of course, but Aaron has made his place in Alexandria with his ability to read people. She spoke of the prison with fondness and resignation, spoke of it as something beyond her reach and while he has no idea what's happened to make her deem herself unworthy, it bothers him nonetheless.

They part ways inside the walls and he stops for a moment, watching Carol as she makes her way down the street.

She's a complicated woman, he's certain of that much. He's not very hopeful that his prodding has done anything, but if he makes her think about the friendship he can see crumbling, it's something, at least.

With a shake of his head, Aaron heads home.

Eric stands at the kitchen counter, his back to the door as he fusses with something. The whole house smells like garlic, but there's something so normal about it that Aaron smiles as starts taking off his boots and hangs up his jacket.

"Honey, you're home!" Eric flashes a smile over his shoulder, but whatever dinner he's preparing requires his full attention. "We've got company," he tips his head towards the direction of the table, hidden from Aaron's sight. "I made an absolutely sinful amount of food, so your work husband is going to make sure we don't overindulge and lose our trim figures."

If the terrible nickname didn't give away their guest, the loud snort that comes from the other room does, and Aaron chuckles as he finishes with his boots and heads inside.

"Ain't nobody's husband," Daryl insists, but there's no malice in his tone.

Eric laughs and Aaron just shakes his head, joining his recruiting partner at the table. Daryl looks relaxed, having spent several evenings with them over the last few months. He moved his bike into the garage at Rick's place several weeks ago, but still turns up on their doorstep a couple of times a week. There’s no pattern to it, Aaron hasn't been able to pinpoint any particular trigger that sent him away from the group he arrived with. At one point, he thought there might be something of a power struggle between Daryl and Rick, but a couple of runs with the hunter had been enough to convince Aaron that he wasn't harboring any fantasies of leadership.

"You could be!" Eric's tone is teasing and Aaron raises an eyebrow at his back.

"I'm sorry, was I intruding?"

Daryl snorts again and tilts back his beer without further comment.

"As much as I enjoy the whole redneck caveman arms of steel thing," Eric promises, laughter lacing his voice, "I'm a happily taken man. All I am saying, however," he turns away from the counter, using his sauce brush to point to Daryl at the table. "You most definitely are not. And, while I would never engage in gossip-"

"Never," Aaron echoes solemnly, catching Daryl's eye. There's a hint of a blush creeping at the other man's collar, but he's scowling hard enough to make it obvious he's forcing the expression.

"Never!" Eric says, lifting the sauce brush like an oath before he grins and continues on. "People are noticing. Lady people."

"Nothin' to notice," Daryl grumbles.

"Oh, you silly man. You're the strong silent type and the dangerous bad boy all wrapped up in the body of some kind of greasy male model." He heads to the table, balancing two plates and setting them in front of Aaron and Daryl before heading back for his own. "The end of the world makes people want to embrace life, and some of the womenfolk around here would happily spend some time embracing it with you."

Daryl snorts and ducks his head, examining his plate and Aaron chuckles again. "Leave him alone," he calls out.

Dinner is comfortable, none of them having had an particularly interesting day. Daryl chews too loudly and Eric holds more than his share of conversation, but Aaron loves how easy it feels. They fell into this unexpected friendship so effortlessly, and just like the easy conversation, they settle into a post-meal routine without any effort.

Having cooked, Eric stays at the table, watching them as they clear the plates and start the dishes. His wine glass is empty, and Aaron can see the telltale flush around his ears to confirm he's had his share of refills.

"Michonne," he says suddenly, prompting Daryl to snort and shake his head.

"What about her?" Aaron asks.

"Really?" Eric ignores him, giving a disappointed look at Daryl's back. "She's beautiful and super dangerous, that's not what you go for?"

"Don't go for anything," Daryl grumbles and Aaron takes a mental count of just how many empty beer bottles are in his kitchen. Between that and the hint of a slightly thicker accent than usual, he realizes that Eric isn't the only one nursing a healthy buzz.

"But she's so... The two of you have such amazing arms, you would have beautiful babies!"

Daryl snorts again. "'Chonne's a friend. She's family," he insists.

Eric's overdramatic sigh makes all of them chuckle.

"What have I told you about playing matchmaker?" Aaron chides without any real sternness.

"I'm not," Eric says, prompting a third snort from the hunter as he dries a casserole dish. "I'm just trying to figure out Daryl's type..."

"So you can set him up."

"So I can gently nudge things in the right direction!" It's not the first time Eric has expressed an interest in helping Daryl settle down, though Aaron is a little surprised to learn he broached it to the man's face before he arrived home. "This world is lonely and cold, but at least I can sleep knowing that I've found the love of my life. I want that for Daryl!" Aaron has to smile at the passion to his statement, knowing that he comes from a place of genuine affection for their friend. "Everyone deserves that one person, who knows them better than anyone else and loves them unconditionally. And I know he didn't have it before the turn, he told me!"

"I see you two had a very deep talk while I was outside the walls."

"Ain't looking for anyone," Daryl grouses, setting aside the dishtowel and turning to level a completely non-threatening glare at Eric. "If I were, wouldn't need you playing cupid."

Eric bursts into laughter, uttering something about Daryl having his own bow and arrow and Aaron catches the hint of a smirk on their dinner guest's face before he mutters that he's going outside for a smoke.

The door clicks shut before Eric composes himself and Aaron watches him from the kitchen, a knowing smile on his lips. "You two got more into the alcohol than I thought," he muses.

Eric grins, shrugging at him. "You were out longer than expected."

"I'll make it up to you," Aaron promises, angling his head to the door. "Let me go say goodnight and send him on his way."

"I hate that he doesn't have anyone to go home to," Eric's tone sobers immediately.

"I know," Aaron stops by the table to give him a quick kiss. "I think maybe he had it, though. He just needs to... reach for it again."

He slips outside, knowing that whatever there is or was between his recruiting partner and Carol is too fragile for Eric's blunt approach to love. He's reluctant to insert himself into the middle of someone else's business, but the sadness he'd seen in Carol's eyes and the almost hesitant way Daryl seems to find himself at their dinner table is enough to tug at Aaron's inner romantic.

He knows how lucky he is to have Eric, how much their relationship grounds him and gives him something to fight for. People need that in this world. Daryl needs that, as much as he pretends not to.

Aaron steps out into the dimming light. Daryl’s leaning against the porch with his cigarette, staring out across the street.

"Nosy son of a bitch," Daryl comments lightly.

"That's a mild way of putting it," Aaron agrees. "He means well, though."

"S'ok," Daryl grunts, taking a drag.

They stand silently for a bit, long enough for Aaron to regret leaving his jacket inside as the chill of fall is sharper after sunset. Daryl finishes his smoke, pitching the butt into the small ceramic frog planter that Eric sat out on the porch for that purpose.

"I ran into Carol this afternoon."

Aaron studies Daryl's back. The other man is still looking out across the street, but he can't hide the subtle tensing of his shoulders as he makes a noncommittal noise.

"She's a lovely woman, we walked back together."

That gets Daryl's attention and he turns, eyes narrowed more than usual. "She was outside the walls?" He knows Daryl well enough to recognize that it's confusion, not concern, that brushes at the edge of his rough tone.

For a moment, Aaron entertains the idea of playing coy, of teasing and planting seeds in Daryl's mind to see if they grow. This isn't a world for dancing around things, though, and he owes Daryl more than hints.

"Listen," he clears his throat, folding his arms across his chest and meeting Daryl's gaze. "I'm not Eric, so I'm not going to pry into your business."

"Best you don't."

"You had it, once. What Eric and I have." He doesn't smile at Daryl's glare, but the predictability of it makes him want to. "You had it with her, or you almost did, at the prison."

"Prison's gone," Daryl's voice is gruff, on the edge of a loss more painful than words, and it makes Aaron ache. His friend is closing up, tucking away the parts that were accidentally exposed and it's so reminiscent of his afternoon talk with Carol that he briefly wonders how two people as wounded and untrusting ever opened up to each other.

"She's not."

The silence between them isn't comfortable now, and Aaron sighs, running a hand through his hair. "Go walk off your buzz," he advises. "And if you want what Eric and I have, go talk to her. I know you care about her, and she isn't any better at hiding her feelings for you. Life's too short to tiptoe around a chance at happiness." He doesn't wait for a reply, just turns back inside as the sound of Daryl's angry footsteps down the stairs and into the night echo through the house.


	3. Chapter 3

Walk off his buzz? Ha! As though Aaron's nosy little dip into his business hadn't been enough to shock any trace of alcohol out of Daryl's system.

The asshole has some nerve, poking his nose into things he doesn't understand. Anger and irritation swell at the invasion of his privacy and Daryl shoves his hands in his pockets to avoid clenching his fists.

Eric's teasing was fine; tolerable because it was rarely specific. The number of people who had teased Daryl in his life was not small, but those who did so without the intention to hurt him? Those had been few and far between. He could privately admit that it fulfilled a need he hadn't known he had: a need for friendship.

The rest of them? Rick and Michonne and Glenn and the group? They were family. A different level, a different bond... Relationships forged in shared hardship and circumstance, and while he wasn't about to diminish the importance of those connections, Daryl couldn't honestly say any of them were friends.

Aaron and Eric are the first real friends he's made.

What bothers him most about Aaron's little Dr. Phil impression is that he'd been out there with Carol. It's not jealousy, it’s that Aaron’s seen her with her mask off and spent time with her away from everyone else. They had conversed and walked home without the weight of a bunch of dead girls hanging between them.

He can't remember the last time he had that with her.

It pulls uncomfortably tight at his chest. He misses that. He wants it back so bad.

Pushing open the front door to the house, he spots Rick on the couch, Ass-kicker balanced on his knees and reaching for her father's face with the curious hands of a toddler. He's making faces at her and Michonne grins widely at them from the other side of the coffee table. 

He's had longer to get used to it, but family is just as foreign to him as friends are.

The slight sound of dishes being stacked in the kitchen draws his eyes away from the living room he only other people living in this house are Carl and Carol, and he's never seen the teenager put away dishes. Any other days he would have gone upstairs, he would have showered and fiddled with his weapons and laid down. 

Life's too short to tiptoe around a chance at happiness.

Carol's putting the last of the dishes away, standing on her tiptoes to reach the highest shelf in the cupboard and the sight of her clenches something in his chest. Any greeting falls away forgotten as he watches the shift and play of her delicate forearm where her collared shirt has been rolled to her elbows.

Maybe he's got more alcohol in his system than he thought, if her wrists are this distracting.

She closes the cupboard door and turns, startling when she finds him watching her from the doorway. For a moment, she's the woman Daryl misses so badly but then the mask slides back and she gives him a placid smile.

"There's leftovers in the fridge."

Daryl nods, staring at her, trying to challenge her to stop the act. Back at the prison they met this way countless times. He'd come in from the yard and she'd be cleaning up from dinner. She'd tease him about being covered in the dirt of the day and offer to help him get cleaned up, that fucking cocky smirk that thinned her lips beckoning him enough to make the expected mumble of "stop" harder every time.

He doesn't know how many times away from agreeing he was. It might have been one, it might have been another dozen... but if there had only been more time, he knows his courage was building.

He longs for one more chance to man up and take her up on the offer.

After a beat, Carol just nods back, moving to wipe down the counter. It's easier without her looking at him, and Daryl finds his voice.

"Heard you were outside today."

"Had dinner with Aaron and Eric again?" She's wringing out her dishtowel now and Daryl gets the sense that he's about to run out of time, again.

"Mhmm," he grunts in reply, fingers curling around the lighter in his pocket for something to do while he desperately searches for a reason to continue talking with her. "C'mon," he blurts, angling his head towards the front door when she turns around with a confused look. "Go for a walk. With me."

It sounds fucking stupid, and he can't help but scowl at how bad he is at this. But Carol's looking at him with an unreadable expression and just when he's about to take back the offer and slink away, she nods.

"I'll get my jacket."

So he heads back out to the porch, hands still shoved in his pockets. It's dark now, chilly and the air is a little wet with the threat of rain. Hardly the sort of atmosphere that breeds romance but when Carol steps outside in some sort of eggplant coloured windbreaker Daryl finds his heartbeat speeding up anyway.

Part of him wants to hold her hand, wonders what she'd do if he reached over and threaded their fingers together. He wants the warmth of her skin against his, wants to feel her pulse under his thumb and know that she's here, she's real, she's alive.

He doesn't have the courage for that, and his hands stay in his pockets as they make their way silently down the street.

They used to walk the prison grounds like this, when they couldn't sleep. Summer nights in Georgia were too warm for jackets and he'd admired the strong set of her shoulders, the way the skin of her throat had looked in the moonlight. She'd always found reasons to touch him, while they walked. A hand against his forearm to grab his attention or her shoulder nudging his when he managed to make her laugh.

The layers of outerwear aren't the only things between them now.

The silence isn't comfortable, not in the way it used to be and as they approach the walls at the end of the street, he struggles to come up with something to say. The road ends, but Carol steps onto the grass and keeps going, only stopping when she can reach out and graze the wall with her fingertips.

"Can't see the other side," she muses softly and Daryl steps up beside her, mirroring her position and lightly dragging his fingertips on the wall beside hers.

Maybe it's the lingering effects of the alcohol, but he swears he can feel the heat from her touch when he touches the wall.

"Feels more trapped here."

"Safer here, though," he mutters, a thousand thoughts trying to find their way to his mouth. All he manages is to lightly rap his knuckles against the wall. "Sturdier than chain link."

Carol presses her palm fully against the metal, as though she's trying to test the truth of his words and he seizes his courage and moves his hand atop hers, grazing her wrist with the pad of his thumb. She's a little bit clammy, but he hears her slight intake of breath and can feel the thrum of her pulse. He doesn't look at her, but the tremble in his voice is matched by the stroke of his thumb.

"I..." he breathes, gently pulling her hand from the wall and bringing it to his chest, holding it in his own as he stares down at the way her fingers curl into his. "Want you bein' you again. Want us back."

When he finally lifts his eyes to hers, it breaks his heart to see tears spilling over.


	4. Chapter 4

Carol doesn't know when the tears started. She doesn't remember them welling up or her vision blurring. It isn't until he meets her eyes that she realizes they're sliding down her cheeks.

She's focused on the things under her fingers: the chill of the metal wall then the soft leather of Daryl's jacket. The heat of his hands enclosing her own. Tactile is easier because if she looks inside or tries to go deeper she knows that she will drown.

He's there, his voice like a rough scrape across her heart and she thinks it's panic welling up inside her but she doesn't know. She doesn't know how to play her role anymore and when she looks at him, there's fear and expectation and pain in his face. He's not hiding anything.

His openness, the naked honesty of his expression, is unbearably heavy and Carol squeezes her eyes shut. She tries to steady her breathing, tries to keep herself together. He clenches her hand between both of his. She focuses on feeling his heartbeat through his palms.

Slowly, the wave of panic recedes and the pieces click together in her mind.

Aaron.

They'd spoken of Daryl outside the walls and that's whose home Daryl had been at for dinner.

This isn’t Daryl, this is the result of carefully chosen questions from a man who understands him. A romantic man, who wants his friend to be happy in that nauseating way that people who have a stable relationship need to thrust upon others. She might not know their story, but Carol is sure that Aaron and Eric don’t have the blood and death and loss between them that keeps her from Daryl. Happiness, love, stability... all things for someone else, not her.

Not Daryl either. She doesn't kid herself. If she lets him go he won’t find another.

She wishes she were strong enough to be what he's asking for, strong enough to let him love her, to let him back in. At one point, he'd been wrapped around her heart. They’d had a whisper of happiness, but then they started inching slowly towards what seemed inevitable.

She's not that woman anymore. Carol takes one last steadying breath before opening her eyes.

Whatever he sees there is enough for Daryl's expression to flash with disappointment and heartbreak so acutely that she feels it with every inch of her body. He releases her hand, taking a step back and shoving his hands in his pockets as he scrambles to rebuild the defenses he's lowered.

She's seized, then, by a need to explain herself, a desire make sure he understands and doesn't think it's any fault of his. Daryl's life has not been one filled with love and she knows firsthand how easily you can twist the hurt someone causes to be what you deserve.

"I can't-" She starts, but he cuts her off.

"You can't let yourself feel it," he confirms with a nod, but the edge in his voice is there to cut them both. "Heard you the first time." He jerks his head back towards the street, turning away from her. "Let's go. Gettin late."

"I'm sorry, Daryl." She's proud of the steadiness in her voice. "I wish-"

This time, he interrupts her by crowding into her space so fast he's there before she even realizes he's turned around. His hands aren't in his pockets anymore and she thinks she hears him say "fuck that" before his palms close around the sides of her face and his mouth is on hers.

He tastes like garlic and beer and there's a savagery in his kiss that should scare her. She's been kissed by an angry man before, but even though his tongue presses into her mouth and his body crowds her against the wall, Carol knows Daryl would never hurt her. Himself, yes, she's seen the scars he thinks no one notices and she knows that's what this is. He's forcing himself not to understand, making it clear he doesn't think he deserves her and crushing the memory of them into ash against his skin.

Kissing him back happens instantly, almost before their lips even touch and Carol doesn't know how to do anything but press against him and match his urgency. This isn't who they were at the prison, all tongues and the scrape of teeth and the blunt force of feelings coming up against each other.

At the prison, she'd imagined countless scenarios to bring their lips together for the first time. From chaste and gentle pecks she'd tease out of him with jokes and flirting to spontaneous expressions of relief at finding each other alive at the end of a fight. Passion, tenderness, even anger and grief had all been possible catalysts but she's never dreamed up a scenario like this.

This kiss is disappointment, this kiss is draining everything they have to give each other.

This kiss is goodbye.

Even as his lips slant against hers for better access, even as her hands slide across his ass to press him harder against her, Carol imagines the rest of their days from here.

She imagines them keeping their distance, imagines how they'll drift apart. She imagines the way they will look at each other, every once in a while, with the heat of this desperate embrace between them. She'll see the longing in his eyes for a split second before he'll nod at her and continue with whatever he was doing. He'll think, in his restless moments, that if he just went to her and tried again maybe she'd let him in but he'll never find the courage to ask again. She'll feel a tug in her heart every time they find themselves alone and a spark of hope and fear and love will allow her, for just a moment, to think this is the moment.

But the moment will never come, and he'll find reasons to stay away. From her, from the house, from Alexandria itself.

And some day, one of them will be gone. He won't come back or she’ll be taken by surprise. There could be a million different deaths for either of them. If she goes first, Daryl will blame himself, no matter the circumstances. He won't be whole anymore. And if he's spared that, she knows that no barrier, no walls or fences or suit of armor around her heart will keep her from feeling his death.

That's the tragedy that crushes her, that she would keep him away to protect herself when the damage has already been done. She loves him with her heart and her soul and her bones and she has the power to let them both try. For happiness, for love, for stability. They'll never have the innocence of the prison, but for the first time since she'd felt the click of a locked car door under her fingers, Carol thinks that maybe there might be a chance for her.

For them.

She isn't sure when his kisses stopped, but Daryl's still holding her face, his forehead against hers and his ragged breathing warm and heavy in her face. Slowly, Carol slides her hands up his sides and under his elbows. He drops his, moving to step back again but she curls her fingers into his jacket and cuts him off.

"I'm not ready to talk about what happened," her voice is soft but steady and the leather is warm on her fingers. "I don't know if I ever will be."

"Don't gotta be."

"So we try." Carol nods, uncurling her fingers and smoothing the front of his jacket before cupping his face in her hands the way he did to her. His eyes search hers, and Carol feels the strange tug of a smile on her lips. A real one, nothing calculated or intentional and his lips curve up to match.

She kisses him then, and it's nothing like the explosion his had been. Her mouth presses surely against his and when she parts her lips and he slides his tongue against hers again, it's slow and warm. Daryl rests his hands at her waist for a moment, then she can feel his slight chuckle as he slides his hands down to firmly cup her ass.

Eyebrow raised, Carol pulls away enough to catch his eye and he just shrugs, his expression hinting playfulness even as redness creeps from his collar.

"Just tryin," he defends himself, returning his hands to the relative safety of her hips.

"Trying to cop a feel."

He kisses away her laughter, teasing her with variations in pressure and intensity and Carol feels drugged by the headiness of it. She doesn't know the last time she kissed a man this long, isn't sure she ever has. Daryl wants her, the evidence is pressed against her stomach, but there's something freeing in how unrushed she feels.

They'll part eventually, she knows. They'll make their way back down the street and she'll take his hand so he doesn't need to find the courage to do it himself. They'll go home to a house already asleep and she can perfectly imagine the look he'll give her. Equal parts bashful and questioning, he'll clear his throat and mumble good night and she'll smirk at him, promising it will be before taking him firmly by the hand again and leading him to her bedroom.

Some day they will die. Be it soon or in decades and whether it be together or apart, it will happen. But it won't be tonight, and Carol has some other daydreams from the prison she intends to enact now that the first kiss is taken care of. Dreams of gasps and moans and other sinful things that had served as fuel for her solitary explorations between her legs for longer than he'd ever guess.

They're not carefree, they never will be, but here against the wall in the chill of an autumn night, Carol thinks that maybe trying doesn't automatically mean failing.

That maybe it's not the prison they think of as home, maybe it's each other.


End file.
